Goodbye, Ariadne
by issachar-san
Summary: Xenosaga, centering around Andrew Cherenkov shortly after he joined UTIC, told mainly from the limited 3rd person perspective of Commander Margulis. Yes, it's slashy. Deal. :3
1. A Commander's Perogative

Author's Notes: 

Okay, like, this is the first half of something I wrote by hand, and am currently working on converting to the computer. The hand-written version is only about six pages long, so I'm suprised that it's taking this long to type up. It starts up a few days after Cherenkov is picked up by Margulis.

* * *

It had only taken him three days to recover from the blackout. Sellers had expressed that he was impressed; most people took closer to three weeks to recover when it came to the way Commander Margulis did things. Margulis himself, however, was particularly put out by this turn of events, as he was used to having more time to get to 'study' his recruits than three days. He didn't like having all those black-box areas about Cherenkov, but he figured it was for the best. Political gears were finally beginning to turn again, which was interesting, but at the moment, he was afraid that he would begin to find Cherenkov...more interesting. If he were caught being distracted at such a critical time...well, there went his credibility.

Interesting, indeed. It wasn't his fault that those craven infidels always chose, unerringly, the most beautiful people to recycle. Cherenkov was no spring chicken, being on the upwards of 34 or so, but he still managed to look dashing and sophisticated without even being awake. He belonged on a Federation starcruiser, with that well-groomed golden crown of his, and those daring blue eyes. An arian posterchild, if ever there was one. Cherenkov's energy defied his age, and made Margulis feel like he was much more than eight years older than him. On the platform in front of the Personality Reconditioning Center on Ariadne, surrounded by all those bodies, with all that blood over his hands and face, Commander Margulis thought he looked like an angel.

"Ahem..."

He was probably the only person who thought that way, though.

Pellegri had this annoying habit of being able to see right through him, and he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of seeing his impatience as they waited out in front of Sellers' office. It had been nearly three hours since they'd brought Cherenkov to check him over, so Margulis' patience was beginning to fade. He'd also been standing in the same spot for those three hours. With his arms crossed, of course, trying to stare through the door. He didn't quite trust Sellers with his prize.

"Maybe if you started pacing, your feet wouldn't hurt so much."

He gave her a sidelong look without turning his head just as the doors opened.

"Margulis, I don't know where you found this one, but he's definately one of the most unique variants I've ever studied," Sellers said, floating out into the hallway with Cherenkov behind him. He stopped his hover-chair in front of Margulis and gave him a stern look. "He's highly damaged psychologically, however, and physically weakened a bit. He needs to be taken very good care of if he's to be of any use to you. Train him yourself and keep a close eye on him if you can help it. ...Pellegri, what are you smiling for?"

Pellegri always smiled at the most inappropriate times. Margulis thought he was beginning to hate her. "Nothing, sir," she said amiably.

"Very well. I leave this to the both of you. Have a safe journey home."

As the doors to Sellers' lab closed behind him, Cherenkov turned to Commander Margulis. "What now, sir?"

Margulis paused, and he turned and started walking down the corridor to the hangar. "This way." Cherenkov fell in line behind him, and Pellegri took the rear. Margulis didn't bother to look behind him when he spoke. "Do you know how to pilot a shuttle?"

"Yes sir. Everyone in my unit during the Zoar Incident was well-trained."

"Very good. You may have the pleasure of flying us back to Pleroma."

"Yes sir."

Margulis had no idea of the trends in the Federation Military's Super Soldier programs; if they went about creating super soldiers in the same way they went about creating Realians, he guessed that everyone in Cherenkov's unit looked vaguely similar, if not identical. A whole troop of Andrew Cherenkov. He would have loved to have seen it. Like a pack of rampaging unicorns. Young. Blonde. Deadly.

"Andrew, was your unit composed entirely of other Super Soldiers like you?" Pellegri asked.

"Yes. We didn't look all the same like Realians, though. A lot of people donated their DNA to the Super Soldier program, so we looked different...just like everybody else, I guess..." Cherenkov explained.

There went Margulis' pack of unicorns.

Pellegri grinned as the Commander quickened his pace out of frustration.

* * *

The flight back to the Asteroid Base was pleasantly dull, and once back on Pleroma, Margulis began instructing Cherenkov in the basics. Menial things like how to operate the ops consoles, load the standard-issue guns and dining ettiquete; things that probably would have been best off left to drill sargent. Cherenkov found himself getting uncomfortable looks from the other soldiers at this overt display of favouritism. Margulis was more than aware of it, though. He wanted to see if Cherenkov would be able to defend himself against his other stray dogs. He stood to lose a few men, but there was nothing on the mission roster from Sellers yet, and therefore Margulis was bored out of his skull and wanted to see some more carnage, especially if he got the chance to break Cherenkov in. Besides, most of them were just good little scared Ormus brats whose fathers pushed into the military to make them grow up.

At 2000 hours, he escorted Cherenkov to his quarters. He was a good study, but Margulis had gotten a bit maddened by Cherenkov's "yes sir" every five seconds. This was why he wasn't a drill sargent. But Margulis knew if he asked him to stop calling him "sir," the dogs would see it as a sign of weakness and turn on HIM. After the tour of his quarters, Margulis stopped Cherenkov outside his door. "Tomorrow I'm going to be placing you in the hands of Lieutenant Vanderkaum. Get a good night's sleep. I'll be on hand if any problems crop up, but if you ask for my help directly, I won't give it to you, since you need to learn to function on this base on your own."

Cherenkov took off his helmet and looked at the floor. "I can't guarantee anything. I was born for combat, not ops speciality."

"I'll put you on the list as soon as any combat situations crop up," Commander Margulis said, grinning a bit as he saw Cherenkov's eyes light up. Margulis took Cherenkov's helmet from him for a moment to study it. "I apologise for Pellegri asking that question about your unit earlier. It was impolite of her to bring that up."

"It's not a big deal. I keep thinking that they were lucky to die in that conflict, but I also think I survived for a reason, and that means that I probably have something more to do before I expire. Something important," Cherenkov replied, still looking at the floor. "That's one of the few things that kept me going through...well, you know."

The Commander's prerogative to remain stone-faced was beginning to crack. He would have liked to decimate the population of Ariadne for attempting to destroy Cherenkov's uniqueness. He looked on the younger man as a piece of art; a stained glass window that had been taken to with a baseball bat. He felt a rant coming on inside of him. "Yes. Providence is a strange thing sometimes. U-TIC doesn't know how lucky they are to have you with us, Cherenkov," he said, handing him his helmet back.

Without thinking of it, Cherenkov's hands brushed against the Commander's for a second when he took his helmet back. If he had been looking his superior in the eye, he would have seen Margulis' face explode in a split-second expression of alarm. _How DARE he?_ Not five days knowing him, and Cherenkov had managed to work him up and pierce his guard. His heart beat in his chest as if he'd been running a mile. Angry at himself for caving, he glowered and exhaled furiously, shaking his head as Cherenkov looked up at him in surprise, not knowing what he'd done. Margulis all but shattered the lock on the door to his quarters with his fist, and Cherenkov barely had time to jump out of the way before being crushed by the door.

Margulis stormed out of the corridor, shoving soldiers out of the way as he went until he got to the lift. When the doors closed, he allowed himself to breathe. He hadn't felt this way in a very long time. If ever, probably. If this kept up, his composure would crack, he'd embarrass himself in front of his men, and it would be the end of him for U-TIC. And that was NOT going to happen.


	2. Goodnight Lovers

Author's Notes: 

This chapter is the obligatory angsty songfic chapter about Cherenkov killing his wife. Goodnight Lovers is by Depeche Mode, and can be found on the Exciter album. I lay claim to it not. This was gutwrenching to write.

* * *

"Why?   
Why did you do this to me?  
Were you just thinking of yourself?   
Was your intent always to hurt me?   
Were you just pretending to look my way?   
Do you even know the way I feel about you?   
Do you understand why I'm upset?   
Do you even care?   
Do you even want to know?   
Are you scared of me?   
Did you want to see how much I could hurt you by seeing how much you could hurt me?  
This isn't the worst I could do, you know.   
You know, I really just want to rip your heart right out of your chest, but I hate the way you flinch when I touch your body, so I'm just going to wait until you're dead. Or unconscious. It's a pity, though, since I really DO want you to know what it feels like."

Those were just a fraction of the billions of things that were running throught his mind as he strangled his wife. She was digging her fingernails into his hands to try and stop him, but his grip around her neck was too tight.

"How could you make me hate you like you just did? You have me trapped.   
You could do anything to me you wanted, you know.   
I was trying to be what you wanted, but I guess it wasn't good enough.   
You should have let me stay in jail.   
You shouldn't have let me fall in love with you.   
You just let it happen.   
I fell, and you watched me fall, and you know I can't do anything now about it."

She glared at him through her pain. Glaring back at her wasn't going to make her understand all the things he felt, and she was still defiant, despite the fact that she was beginning to fade out. If he was going to be fucked over anyway, he might as well be fucked over all the way. They were both going down.

Finally, Andrew found his words:"It's not fair...!"

"Life's...not fair..." she rasped back.

"I LOVED you!"

"Tell it to the judge."

Cherenkov hung his head. He didn't care if his wife thought he was a sissy for crying more than she did. "You were supposed to take care of me...you lied to me. You lied to the cloning agency. You lied to the court. You lied to everyone. You're really good at lying, aren't you? Or maybe it's just because I'm that blind and wanted you to love me back," he said, feeling his wife's neck lose its tenseness and give against his hands.

"I wonder. Will you be able to lie to that god you always talk about?" he asked as she died.

He put her body on the floor, and looked over her shoulder at her face. He never thought she was pretty, and he most certainly didn't think she was pretty now, but death brought to her an unfamiliar peace. "I would hope that god is much blinder than I am, if I were you..."

Here, somewhere in the heart of me  
There is still a part of me  
That cares

And I'll, I'll still take the best you've got  
Even though I'm sure it's not  
The best for me

When you're born a lover  
You're born to suffer  
Like all soul sisters  
And soul brothers

I, I can see the danger signs  
They only help to underline  
Your beauty

I'm not looking for an easy ride  
True happiness cannot be tried  
So easily

When you're born a lover  
You're born to suffer  
Like all soul sisters  
And soul brothers

Like all soul sisters  
And soul brothers

* * *

Cherenkov awoke from his nightmare in a cold sweat. He whipped his head around in the dim, faintly purple lighting of his quarters. He wondered why he still cared, even after all of this. Maybe he was just lonely. He probably just wanted another warm body close to him again. But he wasn't going to let just anybody in for more than a few words. They would have to come knocking on his door, and they would have to prove it. 


	3. The Wrong Way

Author's Note:

This chapter's kinda the go-between between the big thing that's supposed to happen next-chapter. Marge is such a bastard. I love writing for him. Probably because he's one of the best villains the video game fandom has seen in a long time, and he doesn't have to suffer from bishonenism to be cool.

* * *

Commander Margulis hoped that this was only the second most humiliating day of Andrew Cherenkov's life. He had keyed Cherenkov's alarm system to go off two hours late, and watched, stone cold, as the drill instructor wrenched him out of bed, repeatedly called him a candy-ass little girl for stepping out of line. In the mess hall, Cherenkov got cornered by the ops crew from the bridge and all he did was look up at the Commander sheepishly as they beat the crap out of him, but puppy eyes did not WORK. Margulis had learned that lesson a long time ago, and wasn't about to repeat that mistake.

Cherenkov had to be dragged off to his quarters early that night, since he'd been knocked stupid. The Commander was distressed to see his best stray with a black eye on his first real day with the organization. He'd expected violence. He'd expected bloodspray. Instead, Cherenkov was letting himself get kicked down. Margulis was put out, to say the least, and at the end of the day, paid a visit to Cherenkov's quarters to get the point across.

"You've got some nerve, Andrew Cherenkov," he said as Cherenkov opened his door, folding his arms and looking down his nose at the younger man. "I've I'd have paid any money for you, I would have wanted every cent back after today's little show."

"Excuse me?" Cherenkov asked, squinting his eyes obliviously.

Margulis tried not to notice that he was out of uniform and ready for bed, only wearing a black tank top and some grey sweat pants. ...Whatever. He'd come here to set his new protege square, and wasn't about to lose his nerve again. He stepped forward aggressively, and Cherenkov leaped back to save his personal airspace from being invaded. "It wasn't a week ago that I found you, covered in blood, on Ariadne. There were over thirty people sprawled out around you, dead or dying or critically injured. So what was with that incident in the mess hall?!"

Cherenkov reflexively covered his black eye and tried to make light of it by resting his elbow on the post of the standard issue bunk the room was given. "I-I don't know what you mean."

Margulis snatched Cherenkov's arm away from his face, disgusted at his lack of pride. Scars were something you showed off. "Five OPS cadets accosted you while you were eating, and you were on the floor. Crying like a little girl. When you could have just as easily killed them."

"I don't want to kill people on my own side, Commander. I have to work with them. I have to--"

"You have to build a reputation, Cherenkov," Margulis interjected, "otherwise, you'll get eaten alive. Now, I've seen you in action before, and I KNOW you can do better. Show those maggots what you know already - that you're better than they are."

"But--"

"You are not a civilian. Modesty and courtesy are not issues here. You dominate, or you are dominated. How do you think I am where I am now?"

Cherenkov gulped.

Margulis grabbed his chin cruelly and forced him to look up. "Have some dignity," he sneered.

Cherenkov knit his eyebrows and huffed the air out of his nose. "Yes _sir_."

"Good. Now, listen to me, Cherenkov. Tomorrow, in the mess hall, if you are accosted, I want you to beat the shit out of those worthless dogs. Hold out your hand."

With a curious look, Cherenkov did so, and the commander pressed something small and cold into it. Andrew recognised it immediately as a hyposyringe. "What's in it?"

"A safeguard. It's a time-delayed tranquilizer strong enough to take down an elephant. If you know you're going to lose control of yourself and someone will end up dead, this will give you five minutes before you clock out, to minimize any gigantic bit of 'damage' you think you're going to do. Don't worry about furniture or the other men. Once you establish your superiority, no one will touch you."

Cherenkov was looking at the floor as he closed his hand around the tranquilizer. If he really was superior, he shouldn't need to do things like this to get ahead. This was just another chain to him. But he didn't dare speak up. At least not until the commander exited his quarters.

"I suggest you try to learn how to use your rage, so it doesn't end up using you," he said, stepping through and locking him in again.

Cherenkov had rushed after him with the intent to hit him, but his forearm met the cold metal of the door instead. How dare he? How dare he brush something like that off as if it were that easy? Didn't he _know_ what was wrong with him? He didn't want to kill anymore. He didn't want to be angry or confused or sad anymore, but it always seemed that all of those things found him. And that made him angry, confused and sad. He'd never be normal again. He'd almost escaped; the Ariadne authorities or the Federation Guard could have been called, and he'd have definitely been executed, and right now, with no direction and no goals and nothing started on what he wanted to leave behind, he wouldn't have minded being killed. Because he didn't want to do this. He slammed his hand on his door again, trying to get Margulis to hear him. "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE! TAKE ME BACK!!"

Commander Margulis, by this time, was halfway down the hallway, and could only hear Cherenkov slamming his fists on his door to get out. He smiled to himself, confident (and oblivious) that he'd inspired Cherenkov to move. Pellegri arrived from the south and stopped at the door, listening to Cherenkov give up and break down. "MARGULIS!" she snapped, "What do you think you're DOING?"

Margilis stopped, but didn't answer her.

Pellegri stomped toward him. "What did Sellers tell you after he was released? You can't apply the same rules to him as you do to the others, Margulis. He's not normal. You're pushing him too far, too early."

"Pardon me, Pellegri, but all I remember Sellers telling me was that Andrew Cherenkov was under _my_ supervision..."

"Did you even read the casefile we swiped from the Ariadnean records department? You're so excited and so obsessed and so enamoured with his destructive capabilities, but you probably don't even know what type of medication he's supposed to take to keep himself sane, do you?"

Margulis bristled.

Pellegri took out her UNP and threw it at him, leaving it on the page about their new toy. "So he's a killing machine, I'll give you that, but he's a completely _untamed_ killing machine. I know you yourself can keep him under control, so what's wrong with you that you can't keep in contact with him one on one until he's used to us? Did you know that he had a wife? Did you know that she got herself cloned because she didn't want to have children? Did you know that he killed both her AND her clone? And this hasn't even been a year since he killed the little girl. How do you think he feels? The report said he gave no explaination for his actions, either. If you really intend to take care of him and make him one of us, you need to spend more time with him and try to help him get over this. Otherwise, he's not going to be of much use to anyone."

Margulis scowled at her and gave her a glance every few seconds as he read down the file. With all official reports, it was dull and bleak, and disrespectful; Cherenkov was nothing more than a criminal to the state, and it made him angry to read it. Which was why he hadn't before. "That...woman used his rehabilitated criminal status to get a cloning permit..." Pellegri screwed up her face and held out her hand to get her UNP back. Margulis held it out of her reach as he scanned the rest of it. "If I brought any of this up, I don't know if it would be an intrusion of his privacy or not."

"You of all people are not one to talk of privacy, _Commander_," her voice was defiant. "If you don't approach him about this, I _will_."

Margulis' hand went to his sword. "You keep your hands out of this, woman, or I'll--"

"All you have to do is talk to him, and I'll keep my nose out of it. Put down your warrior's pride for a moment if you're really that adamant about keeping Cherenkov, because he doesn't need the barrel of a gun to his head right now." Pellegri growled.

"Don't insult him by making him out to be as sensitive as a woman. You might be feeling more upset about this than he is."

Pellegri stepped up to him and snatched her UNP out of his hand and turned it off. "Well, it would be worth the risk of assuming if it allows us to keep him. And I know that that's a priority for you, Commander Margulis," she said, making sure her insinuation was genuine before walking out of the hallway.

"You infuriate me."

"I do that anyway."


End file.
